


Trial By Sherlock

by Lil_Nezumi



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 05:38:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4552719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lil_Nezumi/pseuds/Lil_Nezumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(BBC, Episodes, Re-Write with Sentinel Universe thrown in) Sentinels and Guides have been in existence for years.  Each having their own centres and protective government organizations, with mutual co-existent centres in many cities for the purpose of bringing the two together.  Gene-Non Active Guide Watson comes back from a war with more forensic knowledge based on the tasks he’d been asked to perform while at war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fiction is non-beta'd and non-brit picked. Still it is complete, so enjoy.

Sherlock - Holmes - John - Watson

 

**CH 1**

 

Sherlock - Holmes - John - Watson

 

“John,” Dr. Jamison Bruno said to his friend stretched out on his back. “John can you hear me?”

 

“Yes,” Dr. John Watson, GNA Guide (…i…) said, from his position on the hospital cot in the desert. His shoulder had been patched up and his arm was in a sling, but that was the best that they could do for him here. He’d been brought in with a shoulder wound and still alive by the grace of some merciful God or so it seemed. He blinked and looked to his colleague with a wry grin. “Guess I’m going home then.”

 

“You are,” Dr. Bruno confirmed with a wry grin of his own. He twirled his finger in the air in the form of a circle. “By a circuitous route though,” he paused and said. “We have to ship you out on the next transport and that one’s headed straight for the States. Your paperwork’s all in order. I’ll bring them to you once you’ve packed.”

 

John rolled his eyes and nodded. He sat up on the cot, nodded to the canvas covered metal frame and said, “You know, I might miss this thing.”

 

“Yeah right,” his doctor snorted. “I’ll include several re-training pamphlets to consider with your shoulder limitations. There’ll be options for relocation for you to think about. But going to the States will do you some good Guide-wise too. They have the biggest centralized location that can help you sort yourself out and get you emotionally situated properly.”

 

“Good to know,” John sighed and rubbed his eyes as he friend turned to leave him to get dressed and get his gear in order. “I don’t really need it though, since I’m still GNA.”

 

“Doesn’t matter,” Jamison said. “You may be GNA, but you are exhibiting latent abilities that require immediate attention or else you’ll be overwhelmed when your status suddenly changes.”

 

“You truly believe that will happen,” John looked up to his friend and colleague.

 

Dr. Jamison Bruno was a Guide himself and he’d felt his friend’s altered state when the man had first been brought to the M.A.S.H. emergency tent. “Yes,” he replied candidly. “You’re borderline already and I have a feeling that even if you never fully manifest as a Guide, you’ll be living in that state for the rest of your life. You’ll need help in dealing with it.”

 

John Watson scowled, but nodded as his friend left him to pack his meagre military belongings. Half an hour later he had a duffle at his feet. He had everything that had been issued to him piled with it which included; a tactical vest, standard backpack and the medical satchel with a big red cross on the flap.

 

He’d also managed to pack a few very small souvenirs such as the plain beige head gear of one of the tribes of the desert people, a chain of intricately forged metal that had been sold in a desert market and a very small volumetric flask of red-brown to tan looking layered sand that he’d collected one day after a sandstorm. It had been carefully packed in a small bone box that he’d carved from readily available animal bones by hand during the slow times with his every present pocket knife.

 

Dr. Bruno then handed him a large yellow-tan envelop packet of papers and said, “I wish you luck my friend. You had better keep in touch.”

 

John pasted a false smile on his face and just nodded, refusing to say anything more as he’d just become invalided out of the army. He clasped the dog-tags at his chest and thought, ‘ _No more Captain Watson, Army Field Surgeon. You’re going to back to the civilized world as plain old Dr. Watson. Probably only good for GP status now._ ’

 

He looked back at the room filled with patients, nodded to a few that he’d helped and then hauled the backpack with his TAC-vest strapped to it over his good shoulder along with holding the duffle and medical satchel in his hand, clutching his paperwork with the other as he raced to catch the land rover that would take him to the nearest town to catch his air transportation away from the desert war.

 

Sherlock - Holmes - John - Watson

 

Months later he’d nearly finished the physiotherapy for his left shoulder, arm and hand, when a gas main had exploded further down the street from the outpatient hospital he’d been forced to attend in the good ‘ole US of A. He’d had to remain on US soil due to his borderline empathic sensitivities in order to get them under firm control.

 

In the state hospital he had access to one of the foremost Guide experts available to him as a private councillor. An aging, friendly Dr. Blair Sandburg and his Sentinel were nearby when the explosion had hit the facility nearly two weeks ago. It had startled many of the war veterans and had triggered many symptoms that fell under the umbrella of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). (…ii…) It was not something that any of the veterans there had needed.

 

There had been a few casualties, but nothing had been more worrying to them than the emergence of a psychosomatic limp in their PTSD diagnosed friend Dr. John Watson, borderline GNA Guide. The ex-Captain had nearly been done with his therapy sessions and now it looked like he’d developed another problem that was about to travel with him. They couldn’t keep the man in the US any longer as he’d passed many of the critical stages in dealing with his borderline status.

 

“Oh man,” Blair had walked through the treatment room and watched as John limped around kind of quickly with a silver, serviceable medical cane at his side. The limp was on the opposite side as the war wound that had festered badly during his transit back to civilization where an intermittent tremor would prevent the man from returning to a trauma surgeon’s practice. “This is not going to be good for him. They’d already planned to send him home, but now with a limp?”

 

“He’ll recover,” Jim said to his partner with is hand on the man’s salt and pepper graying curly head of hair. He tugged it gently and continued. “He’ll find what he needs when he’s back in familiar territory.” His guide turned hugged him when he said. “As much as we like the guy, we can’t keep him here.”

 

“Can’t we,” Blair complained. It was done in jest, but he knew that time moved on and that soldiers always went home, one way or another. “He’s got such great plans about setting up a Mobile Forensic Unit that employs discharged soldiers while accessing University Labs and students for testing while keeping everything locked at some other secure site. It makes so much sense to set up something like that here especially with his ideas of using retired Sentinels and Guides as the forensic gatherers.”

 

“It can be done here by someone else too,” John said with a grin as he limped quickly into the room when he’d noticed his friends standing outside the room. He’d caught the tail end of the conversation. “I want to set something up in my own country. Maybe something centrally localized like London. Many of my guys are heading there and I know they’re waiting for their Captain to return to lead them into the more normal world.”

 

“How can diagnosing crime scenes be normal,” Blair huffed with a teasing tone.

 

John shared a look with Jim as he said, “It’ll be the best middle ground that they can get. Besides those that are fit for duty, aren’t really ready to return to true duty.” He then grinned and said, “I’ll need guards to protect the Chain of Evidence there just as much as you guys do here. You know how much trouble we Guides are rumoured to be.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Blair said waved that statement away. They’d shared tales together at bars about Blair’s beginning foray into being a Guide to a hardass, former Army Ranger turned Cop. “You win, but I want you to promise me that you’ll report to the London Guide Centre and keep in touch with us somehow. I’ll miss our conversations.”

 

“I promise,” John shook their hands. “Even if I have to start a Blog just to have somewhere for people to communicate with me,” he rolled his eyes. They all laughed at that since that was what his numerous therapists had insisted he do since he’d begun his treatments and sessions.

 

Blogging was just something that John had had a knee-jerk reaction to protest against. He hated computers and so far he’d managed to do nothing about setting something up on the internet. However he’d been considering on doing something about it for some time and for that same reason he’d told Blair and Jim. It might be a good place for others to keep in touch with him since he had so many people looking to ‘ _keep in touch_ ’ with him.

 

Sherlock - Holmes - John - Watson

 

**TBC...**

 

 

(...i...) Concepts of Gene Non-Active or GNA status for Sentinels and Guides come from my previous stories in the Sentinel Twist series, which were basic re-written episodes one and two of BBC’s Sherlock. This time it’ll be opposite with Watson being the Guide and Sherlock being the Sentinel.

 

(…ii…) PTSD – We know it’s out there, but do we really know how to treat each case. For my story, it’s just a tool to carry the conditions and that is all. In no way is this author an authority on the matter and is in no way mocking those who’ve been diagnosed with such a condition.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock - Holmes - John - Watson

 

**CH 2**

 

Sherlock - Holmes - John - Watson

 

Active Sentinels had to be monitored by the Sentinel Council (SC). Many with only two or three active senses didn’t necessarily require a Guide, but sometimes those recorded on file with only a few active senses may one day suddenly find that they have developed all five. Monitoring of such latent Sentinels had been done as frequently as required so that potential Guides could be found for them.

 

Sherlock Holmes had been pleased that he’d cultivated his senses and had hidden his full activation from the SC. He’d felt that they were too much on par as his older brother in being interfering busy bodies that didn’t know how to keep their opinions to themselves. He’d ensured that his sight and smell senses were sharper than the rest as they had more value to his current choice of job, namely being the one and only Consulting Detective in existence.

 

Sherlock’s older brother Mycroft had set up a perimeter of Guides around his baby brother in the hopes that eventually one day the Consulting Detective would realize that he needed his own guide and not one of the ones assigned to watch out for him. He hadn’t been fooled by his younger brother’s claim of only being a partial Sentinel or latent or whatever other generic term existed out there for one that only had two or three sharpened senses.

 

Unfortunately for Mycroft, that carefully laid plan of his had a glitch. By ensuring that there were a variety of guides all around his brother, Sherlock had no real need to seek out his true guide. That is, if one could ever be found to match positively with the over-active mind that belonged to Sherlock.

 

“You should attend the next social at the Guide centre,” Mycroft suggested and received a derisive snort.

 

“You must be joking,” Sherlock scoffed and sent a glare at his brother, sneering at the man’s posturing with his immaculate suit and fashionable umbrella at his side. “You must have eaten one too many cakes with your tea today. Your thoughts are positively sluggish.” He’d been ambushed in his new flat by his older brother who’d looked around the dusty, cluttered room and sniffed at the place with his usual disdain.

 

The elder Holmes had approved of the location, but a semi-indulgent landlady didn’t seem to be the right person to guard his little brother’s home. It was just barely acceptable that she’d once been a guide to a Sentinel and had the necessary background nursing knowledge to treat his brother from sensory overload should it happen.

 

Mycroft couldn’t fault the move though, since the last place had been completely unacceptable and had encouraged substance abuse. He applauded his baby brother’s tenacity though, but the fact remained that Sherlock was a fully active Sentinel despite his attempts to hide or ignore it. He needed to have a Guide before the question of his sanity became a moot point. The affair with the drugs had been bad enough when it had happened.

 

‘ _A bonded guide would have spotted the issue long before it had become a problem,_ ’ the man thought. ‘ _He needs a bonded guide, but he’s so stubborn._ ’

 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Sherlock said out loud from where he’d been concentrating his attentions to something on a microscope’s glass slide lodged under the clips of the device. “I do not need to saddle myself with a Guide. I’ve better things to do now that I’ve found my niche in this world. Do see yourself out, I’m on an important case and can’t be bothered with you any further today.”

 

“Manners Sherlock,” Mycroft said as he looked on the screen of his phone. “I know you have some, we were brought up with them.” However his brother proved his stubbornness and refused to acknowledge him further. “Very well, I shall speak to you later.”

 

Sherlock’s enhanced hearing had registered his brother’s departure, but he was far too focused on the bug under his eye. He knew that he could have looked at it without the scientific tool, but he liked the microscope. There were so many kinds out there and he couldn’t wait to find a place where he could begin to collect and use all of them.

 

It had been one of his favourite toys as a child and truthfully his brother might be right in his need to have an activated Guide around him. He’d already zoned several times whenever he’d done his consulting work and it had been embarrassing to have been snapped out of it by Guide Level 2 one Sergeant Sally Donovan’s grating voice calling him a ‘ _First class freak of nature_.’

 

Since then, he’d not used much of his sensory abilities and that had helped him get more use from his active brain then he’d ever thought possible. He still used them partially and he’d followed Dr. Sandburg’s advice on never getting too deeply immersed in one sense, piggybacking two or focussing his attentions with more than one worked. Although there were a few times when that couldn’t be helped, so Mycroft’s little minion Guides had been scattered around to prevent too lengthy a zone out.

 

Sherlock - Holmes - John - Watson

 

John’s return to England, specifically to London had been a trial in patience of nearly epic proportions as he’d been forced to reside in a small bed-sit for a few weeks before sorting himself out and planning the next phase of his life. He had some funds, but not a lot and no he would never borrow from family. His pride refused it and his family had their own series of problems to be dealt with.

 

He’d had a small amount set aside and it had been enough to obtain an upgraded medical license to include the title of Forensic Pathologist on his resume. He’d had to visit a few of the local universities to schedule lab uses for business purposes with the view that during some of his lab usage he’d be teaching a subject or two. He assured the Deans that if he wasn’t there to teach or supervise then someone would be. This had been a temporary measure until he could afford to rent a private lab space of his own for his private business.

 

It was quite the change from being a trauma surgeon to becoming someone skilled in forensic gathering and analysis. It worked for him and his three army buddies that had been able to join him in his new business as solid partners in a field that required those with enhanced senses and wanted to use them positively.

 

The London MFU or London Mobile Forensic Unit (LMFU) had become an approved business whereby any local police agency could call upon and have at their disposal. If an LMFU vehicle happened to be in the vicinity, they could radio their availability and could be used instead of the waiting for the police Crime Scene Unit (CSU) to mobilize from their centralized location. Sometimes there were just not enough people working in the CSU to deploy and not every police case required a full forensic team, just someone around to gather what little evidence there was in a professional manner.

 

In fact the LMFU could take the preliminary samples before an official CSU arrived on the scene and could legally aid in the gathering of evidence.   The police had taken advantage of that service and sometimes even the general public had themselves in need of a forensic unit much like they used private investigators. The London MFU was sometimes used in that capacity as more Sentinels were being hired because of an increased need to ‘ _find solid proof_ ’. Some worked part-time and others worked full-time and the business had the backing of both Sentinel and Guide Councils in its favour.

 

John had been nominally placed in charge of the fledgling business when another of his old war buddies had been fully retired from service. Colonel Jack Negi had found his old medic friend one day near despairing over the accounts, payments and other mundane office work of LMFU.

 

Negi had been seeking office work and had been vetted by the stringent lawyers linked to the Sentinel and Guide Council as had all London MFU employees. Both councils knew where to send potential employees and what employees would be needed.

 

“Jack,” John had said looking pleased and holding out his hand to the man that had just wheeled into his small office space. “Good to see you.”

 

“John,” the man sighed. “It is good to be back.”

 

“What’s wrong,” John asked.

 

“I’m seeking a position,” the man replied. “I need a job and was told that I might have a chance here.”

 

“How can I help,” John asked. “We don’t have any mobility accessible vehicles at this point in time and I’m not certain how field work…” He looked at the man in the wheelchair and shrugged almost apologetically.

 

“I’m not looking for field work,” Jack said. “I was a paper pusher in the army and I’m still a paper pusher at heart.” He pulled out his resume and handed it to his old friend.

 

John smiled half-heartedly and began to read the man’s list of accomplishments. His eyebrows rose and he looked to the man who nodded at him. “This is,” he paused. “This is just brilliant.” He flipped the page and noted the attached letter of recommendation by the Guide Council which included his activated status and the fact that the man’s wife was his Sentinel. “You’re hired, both of you if you like.”

 

“What,” Jack blinked and asked. “Really, just like that?”

 

“Yes, really,” John said. “When would you like to start? This office is only temporary in the sense that once the finances are fully sorted, it will be up to you to look for something centralized and accessible. We need a true lab space and I know of several places around town that have been closed due to lack of funds. Not our problem here we have the funds, it’s just a matter of sorting it out and buying the necessary building or buildings.”

 

“Oh,” Jack said. He looked at the earnest expression of his friend and the reason for Watson’s eagerness during the hiring process had dawned on him. He said, “You really want to be out in the field don’t you.”

 

“Guilty as charged,” John nodded and held out his hand for the man to shake it.

 

Jack Negi chuckled and then held out his hand. “Accepted,” he said. “But we haven’t spoken of salary.”

 

“Negotiable based how well you can slog your way through these,” John replied. “I’ve managed the best I could and now it’s all a matter of business to which I’m not that fond of tracking. I hate hunting down payments.”

 

“I’m an old hat at that,” Jack replied. “My wife and I are moving into a facilitated apartment in the next three days. We can start Monday next.”

 

“Deal,” John said. “Meanwhile I can give you a rundown of the company and what would be expected of the both of you... That is if she’s willing to come along.”

 

“Yes,” Jack replied on behalf of his wife. “Does it come with insurance?”

 

“The best to be had,” John nodded. “All employees get equal insurance and retirement benefits, all tied securely without the danger of losing any of the money put into those benefits. Council lawyers and accountants have made sure that all of our rights are protected whether you’re classed as Mundane, Sentinel or Guide. This business is protected by the SC and GC because our employees are primarily invalided soldiers who really need the work. They like that this is experimental and new, but there’s political potential too. They are being careful and so must we. Treat this as sub-military or urban militia or something of that nature and we need specialized contracts in place much like we would for the government.”

 

“That’s great,” Jack replied. He followed John through the halls of the temporary office and noted who the secretaries were and who were, the ones that took to the road in the mobile units. The units had routes that were monitored and linked to police frequencies based on contractual obligations with New Scotland Yard (NSY) as well as with the outlying municipalities and their local police stations.

 

Jack could readily see the command structure of this business and he knew that his wife would be pleased that he’d regained a measure of his old self through this kind of job. He’d always been in charge of some business venture or other until the day he’d volunteered to fight for his country like his friend and saviour Dr. John Watson. It would be a small measure to help the man with the paper demons so that the good doctor could return to something like a field of battle only this time in a citified location.

 

Sherlock - Holmes - John - Watson

 

**TBC...**


	3. Chapter 3

**CH 3**

 

Sherlock - Holmes - John - Watson

 

Four months later citizens of London were continually being mystified by the strange deaths by poison. The latest in the series was a prominent gentleman of the business community. The man had money and it was obvious that the population were not pleased with the unanswered situations.

 

John had been to the first of two crimes scenes those related to those poison deaths. He and his crack team of four forensic analysts, two Sentinels and their Guides had scoured the scenes looking and logging strong forensic evidence that tracked part of the victims’ trajectories before and leading up to their deaths.

 

They’d produced latent empathic impressions of the area which were admittedly not permitted for use in any court of law as those impressions were always deemed to be coloured by a Guide’s personal experience. However, such impressions had always been permitted as tools to seek out evidence and interpret the evidence gathered. However that did not allow for how the victims were being chosen by the killer.

 

The next two victims of the poisonings, including that last financial fellow, and had had regular CSU members of NSY gathering the evidence. Even if a couple of their members were low level or latent Sentinels or Guides, empathic impressions had not been gathered at either of those times.

 

There were some projected trajectories or paths of evidence leading to or from the victim that had not been collected by the CSU team in question. Some of the evidence gathering had also been coloured by internal conflicts in the form of emotional carryovers from domestic disputes that should have remained away from the scene of those crimes.

 

Six months later there was a fifth victim and this time the primary LFMU was called. John was leading his team as he’d led them for the first two poison cases. He’d heard whispers from the other LMFU teams about some police consultant showing up and tying everything together in some fantastical fashion for some of the other cases that LMFU had been called in to work on.

 

“What’s this then,” John had asked about the strange consultant.

 

“You know the expression Trial by Fire,” Emmett Walder had asked and received a nod.

 

Jett Ricker added, “There’s this bloke that comes in on yard business who’s got a funny name and you know that other CSU bloke…oh what’s-is-name…Andrew…Anders…Andy something or other you know the one who’s seems to always mess something up on a scene like missing an important thread on the victim’s pants…”

 

“Spilling coffee,” Bertram Ricker added to help his partner out. “Even drinking at the scene should be written as a no-no and yet police policy allows them.” He shook his head.

 

“What about the time he stepped in that spot of blood before we could analyse the spatter pattern,” Daniella Walder-Trees continued. “That man should be quarantined.” Her partner and husband Emmett snorted and grinned when she sent him a wicked look.

 

“So about the consultant bloke,” John asked.

 

“He rips through a crime scene and points out everyone’s failings along with degrading the CSU teams, the police procedures and Anderson in particular,” Emmett replied. “Calls everyone an idiot too, questioning the size of our brains or some other nonsense, but he is brilliant.”

 

“Anderson, that’s the name,” Jett nodded. “Can’t be bothered to remember it anymore, it’s too painful. Gives us a bad name and he’s just a mundane.” He held up his hands, “Nothing against mundanes, but that man takes the cake, if you know what I mean.”

 

“Some yarders call it _Trial by Sherlock_ for those who meet him for the first time,” Bertram told his colleague, continuing the conversation about the consultant. “You’ll see what we mean when you meet him. He’s like a whirlwind and doesn’t follow protocols because he’s not contracted to follow them.”

 

“Still permitted to consult on occasion though,” Jett said. “Don’t know how he does it? Everyone’s tried to get him kitted properly at a scene, but it just doesn’t happen.”

 

John had noticed that something was not being said, “What else? What’s wrong with him?”

 

“We think he’s a fully activated Sentinel,” Daniella said. “Can’t really get a read on him, but that’s our own set of suspicions.”

 

John looked up as Emmett slowed their van down. “I’ll see soon enough, I suppose,” he observed. “I haven’t worked in this end of town yet. Too busy moving our headquarters and stuff.”

 

“The Detective in charge is one of the good ones though,” Bertram said. “Good man, but he’s stuck with these poison things, just so you know he might seek out that consultant bloke.”

 

The others chuckled at John’s questioning gaze. Once the van was parked, John told everyone to suit up before stepping outside. “Bertie and Jett parameter check, Daniella photos and sketches with Emmett, all of you work your way up to the victim, include recorded sensory impression every three to five feet,” he put on an over suit of white while carrying gloves, booties and a collection kit that hung from a customized hook on his medical cane. “I’ll go see the body and make recorded notes in an outward loop to join up with the first up the stairs.”

 

They nodded and followed their leader’s directions.

 

John had an ear radio tuned into the police frequency at that scene of the crime. He had it on low to continued tracking the amount of foot traffic in the building. His Sentinels would know whose tread belonged to whom after they sorted out the prints.

 

Dr. Watson shook his head and barked out orders that even the poor constables found themselves following, “One constable per floor, everybody else out of here and do some canvassing, nobody else approach the body,” he snapped out. “I want the person who was on the same floor as the victim to come forward to be forensically identified for print elimination purposes including anyone who touched the body or was in the room with the body.”

 

His orders were quickly obeyed even if he wasn’t one of the inspectors or detectives in charge. He needed order and he needed to limit the number of people in the area so that his empathic abilities didn’t overwhelm him.

 

He took a small Bluetooth ear clip that didn’t conflict with the radio in his other ear and set it up to record his movements up to the victim and to begin recording his empathic impressions and assessment of the area. “Dark abandoned house,” he began. “Old prints on the wall, physic impressions of pleasure at seeing them, irrelevant to this investigation,” he hobbled forward and said. “Eight flights of stairs up, victim at the topmost floor, gloves put on Watson’s hands before booties put on Watson’s feet at base of stairs without touching environment.”

 

He hobbled up the stairs surprisingly quickly. Many of the constables noted that the man didn’t quite need his cane all that much, but never said a word against it. At the top landing he said, “Top floor reached, evidence of vandalism throughout the residence,” he paused and then said. “Sentinel to check rails for prints on the way up, victim may have walked up on her own, stairs too stable to discern if victim was carried up. Door was broken into maybe by perpetrator or maybe on previous vandalism occasion.”

 

John looked around the room and made a few observations, “Victim dressed in loud pink skirt and jacket, with matching pink shoes, seemingly fresh make-up applied to face, hands look manicured professionally.” He looked her up and down and then continued, “Mud dots at back of right leg on tights, two broken nails on left hand, R.A.C.H.E. scratched into the floor on purpose by the victim, broken nails on left hand as a result, victim left handed, strong emotions of defiance to the end, fighting against the harsh, can’t taste, fading sight, want to throw up and can’t, voice is soothing and yet annoying, sound of steps fading, have to write, have to write…”

 

He kneeled down and traced the letters all the while thinking, ‘ _Have to write R…A…C…H…E…_ ’

 

“Rachel,” John said softly, in a gentle tone before a loud noise on the stairs and on the radio caught his ear, destroying his concentration on the last psychic impressions from the woman’s death. He frowned and stood up, leaning heavily on his cane.

 

He caught the Detective Sergeant’s derisive statement to all officers on the radio, “ _Freak’s here_.”

 

‘ _Freak,_ ’ he thought as he turned off the radio in his right ear and left the Bluetooth recorder active in his right ear. ‘ _Now, that sounded just mean_.’

 

“Ah, you must be a new forensic guy or one of the LMFU guys. I thought Anderson was going to be here,” a man approached him, properly suited up in the forensic blues, separating him from those white. “I’m Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, call me Greg. I’ve called someone in for a consult.”

 

“LFMU was in on the first two,” John replied. “I’m Dr. John Watson, team leader here, call me John. We were called in this time by your superiors I’m afraid. Something about getting the forensics properly collected and uncompromised,” he grinned.

 

Lestrade huffed and nodded. He waved into the room and said, “What can you tell me?”

 

“Not much at the moment,” John said. “I got knocked out of my impressions with the noise you made on the stairs and that voice several minutes later calling someone a Freak.” He took a deep breath and said, “Give me a moment to centre myself again.” Another deep breath and then he was back into the groove of his emotions, “Fight, defy, write, write…write,” he moved forward. He traced the word again this time he’d psychically felt the nails breaking from the pressure. For a moment he glared at the ring on her finger, “Anger at the ring, hate the ring, crying at the ring…”

 

“NO SIR YOU MUST BE COVERED,” Daniella’s voice yelled and dragged John back into the here and now.

 

John looked at the DI in the room with him and noticed that the man was hiding his face in his gloved hand, shaking his head. He frowned and then stepped out of the room just as a very tall man was about to barge into it.

 

“Where do you think you’re going?” John demanded.

 

The tall man looked at him with slightly widened eyes and said, “You’re not Anderson.”

 

“Obviously,” John replied. “What are you doing here…”

 

“I was invited to help,” the man said in a snide tone.

 

But John continued his sentence without missing a beat, “…without booties or a crime scene suit?”

 

“I never wear one,” the man replied, “Now if you don’t mind I need to get in there before your incompetence mucks up the evidence.”

 

“I do mind,” John replied, pushing the tall man back with his palm on his chest. “You’ll submit yourself for a forensic print profile before you go in there and shed hair all over the place.”

 

“I beg your pardon, I do not shed,” the man replied, stunned that someone had talked back to him in that kind of tone. “I don’t have to be here you know.”

 

“Why are you then,” John asked as he pushed the tall man to sit onto a stool that Daniella had set up nearby and proceeded to gather samples from the man who looked on in astonishment at the audacity of some government stooge telling him what to do. The tall man was confused by the smaller one who’d successfully taken samples of his coat, hair, and even a swab of his mouth before forcing on baby blue one-size-fits-all crime scene booties over his large size forty-five shoes.

 

The taller man sniffed the air, felt something shift inside him and then his mind had other ideas which he forcefully ignored in favour of the crime and puzzle. “Why,” he asked in an incredulous tone. “Because there’s a note and they never leave notes.” He leaned in and whispered, “It’s like Christmas, serial killers or victims leaving notes, something is different about this one, I can feel it.”

 

“Fine,” John said as he stood up with the marginal aide of his cane. He handed off his samples to Daniella, who’d looked on with amusement at the taller man’s confusion of having actually listened to Dr. Watson. “Go on then,” the doctor motioned to the room where the victim completely dressed in a horrid shade of pink waited for the consultant’s analysis.

 

“Are you coming,” the taller man asked looking at the strange short man that had had the audacity to take forensic samples from him, _from him_. No one had ever been able to do that before.

 

“Your name,” John demanded.

 

“Sherlock Holmes,” the tall man said. “You?”

 

“Dr. John Watson,” John replied after he’d written the man’s name on the plastic baggies. “In you go then, Holmes,” he nudged the man in the back.

 

“Sherlock please,” the man replied before he swooped into the room, took out a pocket magnifier and began to look all over the woman, concentrating on this and that. “So John which is it, Afghanistan or Iraq?”

 

“I’m sorry, what,” John replied as he softly noted where Sherlock knelt on the ground in respect to the position of the victim. He silently approved the man’s personal placement in deference to the victim’s final resting position. ‘ _At least there’s not blood around this victim,_ ’ he thought. ‘ _I wonder if he’s this careful around all crime scenes._ ’

 

“You’re ex-military by the cut of your hair and stance,” Sherlock looked back over his shoulder at the Doctor. “Your term of military service was either in Afghanistan or Iraq.”

 

“Afghanistan,” John replied with astonishment showing in his eyes. “How did you…”

 

“Why are you still living at a bed-sit if you’re working with LMFU,” Sherlock asked.

 

“How could you possibly…”

 

“Mutual acquaintance,” Sherlock replied absentmindedly. “Stamford, teacher at St. Bart’s, mentioned yesterday that a friend of his and I have to assume it was you because his description of you, though not quite accurate, was close enough, had still been living at a temporary bed-sit and was surprised that you’d not thought about flat-sharing.”

 

“Described how,” John asked as he watched the man pull out a plain umbrella from the woman’s coat after he’d checked the pink coat’s back and collar. He quickly muttered those observations into his Bluetooth recorder and the fact that the gloves on the consultant’s hands squeaked indicating the coat was wet.

 

“He said and I quote, ‘ _Poor man has a limp because he was wounded in battle_ ’, I see you now and know that your limp is not a battle wound,” Sherlock declared. “It’s psychosomatic. How did _that_ happen?”

 

“Back up, what was that about the bed-sit and flat-sharing,” John replied as he clenched his hand around the cane handle surprised that his friend had mentioned such to this strange tall fellow.

 

“I have nice little place in central London,” Sherlock said. “Lestrade can show you the way. How do you feel about the violin? Sometimes I don’t talk for days on end, would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about one another, don’t you think?” He smirked at the Doctor’s confused expression and just continued on, “Together we should be able to afford it.”

 

John looked to the DI in the room, who only returned a shrug. He looked back at the man kneeling on the ground. “What’s your analysis here then Mr. Consultant?”

 

“What do you see,” Sherlock asked.

 

“My observations have already been recorded,” John replied with a tap to indicate his earpiece. “Let’s have yours.”

 

Sherlock bolted out his analysis of the woman on the ground, stating that she was unhappy in marriage and that she was a serial adulterer too, claiming that the state of marriage can be measured by the lack of cleaning for her wedding ring had in comparison to the rest of jewelry. He claimed that the way she was dressed indicated something about her potential position in the media or in public somewhere that she’d come from Cardiff for an overnight stay.

 

“Amazing,” John muttered as the marriage thing was revealed because it explained the lingering feelings that he’d sensed. He was floored by the rest of and didn’t skimp on the praise. “That’s fantastic, how did you know about Cardiff?”

 

“Her coat is damp and so’s her collar,” Sherlock explained. “She’d been somewhere there was rain, but not far enough away that her clothes had a chance to dry. Her umbrella _is_ dry which means that the rain was too strong so that she couldn’t use it even if she wanted to.”

 

“Marvelous,” John exclaimed in wonder and in actual awe of the man’s quickness of mind.

 

“Do you know that you’re saying that out loud,” Sherlock commented.

 

“I’ll stop if it bothers you,” John replied.

 

“No,” Sherlock protested with a significant pause. “It’s actually fine.” He looked around the room and then asked, “What have you done with her case?”

 

“What case,” Lestrade asked.

 

“Her suitcase,” Sherlock said. “Smallish, judging by the splash marks on the back of her leg. If it had been any bigger the marks would be different.”

 

John had clamped his mouth shut, but his blue eyes sparked with the thought that this tall man had explained away a clue that he’d already recorded for analysis. He had to admit that the leap of logic was plausible and that the woman had traveled a short distance. Short distances logically meant a smaller travel cases.

 

“There was no case,” DI Lestrade said. “There wasn’t one with the body.”

 

Sherlock jumped up and ran down the stairs shouting at anyone that could have found a suitcase. He muttered something about loving serial killers because they were the hardest to catch. He then gasped and started to run out of the building.

 

“Sherlock,” Lestrade shouted. “What are you up too now?”

 

The man only shouted back up the stairs the single word, “PINK”, before taking off into the night.

 

John looked at the Detective Inspector with a questioning look. The silver-haired man only shook his head and then nodded at the silent question from the Doctor. “Yeah,” he replied. “He’s always like that.”

 

Sherlock - Holmes - John - Watson

**TBC...**


	4. Chapter 4

**CH 4**

 

Sherlock - Holmes - John - Watson

 

Detective Inspector Lestrade watched the leader of the LMFU team shake his head and then return to the victim in the room behind them.

 

“That man is either utterly mad or utterly brilliant,” John observed.

 

“Do you think that he’s right about the name Rachel,” Greg asked.

 

John replied with nod, “It was one of the impressions that I had noted before the commotion and before Sherlock arrived. It’s worth looking into.” He nodded to the woman’s hand and lifted it for the DI to look at the damage. “The nails are broken, bloody and there is a smallish mark here,” he pointed to a mark that looked like the woman had wanted to start writing a sixth letter. “She died before she finished writing the full word down. If she was poisoned like the rest, doing anything like this would have been extremely painful. She knew she was dying so why take the time to write it down? There was a purpose for it and it must be noted as being of value even if we don’t quite know why just yet.”

 

“Point,” Greg replied. He took out a notepad and made the necessary notes especially to have his officers, look into any person by the name of Rachel in connection with the woman lying there. “Are you really thinking to flat-share with him?”

 

“Might be,” John sighed. “He wasn’t wrong about my friend or of the conversation I had with him yesterday. What else do you know about Sherlock?” He bagged the woman’s hands to contain the evidence. He did a sticky tape sweep of the woman’s coat and found that it was damp, but knew that there were extra fibres worth collecting. “Daniella,” he called to his colleague and waved her into the room with her husband. “You two do a sweep and collect anything else of immediate value.”

 

DI Lestrade stepped out of the room to make a call for a list of rail travelers from Cardiff matching the woman’s description, if possible. Maybe he’d get lucky with a name without having to wait for results from the fingerprint search. He then looked to John who’d waited for an explanation or insight into the man named Sherlock.

 

“He’s got a great mind as you’ve seen,” Greg began. “I can’t tell you much more than that because he’s also very stubborn and sometimes refuses to explain his reasoning beyond his immediate observations. I’ve gotten more out of him today than I’ve ever done. I think it’s because of you.” He paused and then offered, “I can take you to his flat now since I have to head for New Scotland Yard to update my superiors on some of the facts.”

 

“Go on sir,” Emmett said to Watson. “We’ll continue collecting and making our notes. We’ll send them to you via your phone.”

 

John scrunched his nose at that. He hated reading anything on that tiny screen, but it couldn’t be helped, he didn’t like his tiny laptop either. “Take her fingerprints when you get the body back to the lab and run them through the systems,” he said. “Make notes on what you see and smell on her and then trace it back outside. I want to know if she’s been in contact with one or more than one person.”

 

“It’s one sir,” Emmett replied. “First impression, older dude, he smelled of peppermint candy and a full day’s work along with old wool, mothballs and some denture adhesive or denture cleaner, never can remember which is which, still smells like that awful denture shit.”

 

“Okay then, carry on,” John said. “Bart’s is probably closest, but we may have to invade the CSU labs at the Yard for this case since the police will want to keep the lab results in house. I’ll meet you guys there later.”

 

“Right boss,” Bertie said as he walked up the stairs with his partner.

 

John followed Greg down the stairs where they removed the crime scene suits and the little accessories like the booties before walking out of the building. The DI looked at the doctor and asked, “How did you get him to sit still while you took forensic evidence from him?”

 

John just grinned and shook his head. “Don’t really know,” he said. “I just had a feeling that he’d listen to me and do as I asked.”

 

“Ordered more like,” Greg grinned in reply and motioned for John to enter the police vehicle. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to his landlady. She’s a sweet old gal.”

 

Sherlock - Holmes - John - Watson

 

“There’s a second bedroom up the stairs,” Mrs. Hudson said and pointed up to a top floor door and smallish landing. “That is, if you’ll be needing two bedrooms.”

 

“Of course we’ll be needing two,” John replied.

 

“Oh don’t worry yourself dear,” the friendly woman said. “There’s all sorts round here.”

 

“Why not just rent out the top room separately,” John asked.

 

“Against housing regulations because there is no private kitchen or loo,” she said. “It’s better to rent it out with the bigger apartment of 221B. I’m in A and C has black mould problem that has to be gotten rid of before renting it out. I haven’t the time nor the funds yet to fix that up.”

 

“Ah,” John noised. He walked through the apartment and noticed that it was quite nice looking, though a bit cluttered at the moment.

 

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Martha Hudson tutted as she walked through the apartment. “He’s made such a mess of the place.”

 

“Guess he didn’t think he’d be sharing quite so soon,” John noted. “It is quite nice though and the location is lovely.” It wasn’t too far from a transport system that would take him to the new LMFU Headquarters or medical lab that he’d need use for his work.

 

“Why don’t you sit yourself down and I’ll bring you a cuppa,” she said. “Just this once though, I’m not your housekeeper.”

 

“That would be lovely, thank you,” John replied as he moved a Union Jack pillow to one of the more comfortable looking chairs in the room and sat down too. He picked up a file with some papers sticking out of it and automatically asked, “A couple of biscuits too if you don’t mind?”

 

“Not your housekeeper dear,” the woman said from the stairs with a secret grin. She knew that Sherlock was an activated Sentinel, but she didn’t think that her favourite tenant knew that he’d just invited an Activated Guide to live with him. ‘ _We’ll just see how that works out,_ ’ she thought. ‘ _He’s a nice man. I do hope he stays on for a while it might settle Sherlock down._ ’

 

John read through a cold case file that seemed to have been leafed through several times. There were post-it notes tagged to different sections of the file some were marked: ‘ _Redo Lab Wk_ ’, ‘ _Witnes Test Recant, why_ ’, ‘ _Re-print of pics need, hi-res’_ , etc…

 

“Hm,” John looked up and around the room. He took a quick sniff and realized that the man had used some kind of mist that dissipated environmental odour. He looked on the kitchen table filled with bottles of various chemicals and liquids. ‘ _So he’s a Sentinel without a Guide,_ ’ he thought. ‘ _No Guide would leave the place like this._ ’

 

He paused with a frown and then stood up to inspect the rest of the rooms including the loo. It was just as he thought. The man was using Sentinel friendly chemicals and soaps. He heard someone on the stairs and thought that it was Mrs. Hudson with tea so he hobbled out into the kitchen and began to move some things aside. The slightly opened microwave door had him looking inside curiously only to hop back a bit when he saw three eyes floating in some kind of greenish fluid looking back at him from a large beaker.

 

“Bloody hell,” John gasped and then shut the microwave door with a shudder. He gripped the counter and then opened the apartment door for Mrs. Hudson only to find Sherlock standing there with a pink suitcase in his hand.

 

Sherlock just looked at him up and down, surprised that someone was in his apartment until he remembered the short man that had ordered him about. He strode into the room and plopped the case on the table. He used a paperclip to unlock the case and then he flipped it open.

 

“So what do you think of the apartment,” he asked absentmindedly. He rifled through the suitcase. It was like he was looking for something, but he didn’t know what.

 

“It’s a good location,” John replied. “The clutter will have to be cleaned up.”

 

“Right,” Sherlock said. “I’ll get on it after this case.”

 

“Hm,” John said as he answered the door to Mrs. Hudson’s knock. “Thank you Mrs. Hudson.” He grabbed the tray and moved it to the semi-cleaned kitchen counter. “I’ll bring it back down when I leave, shall I?”

 

“Of course dear,” she told him with a gentle pat on his arm. She looked at Sherlock fondly and said, “I believe that you’ll be good for him.”

 

John only smiled at the woman, not sure what else to express when she made her sentiments known. He turned back to make a perfect cuppa for himself and then he asked, “Do you want some tea?”

 

“Not right now,” Sherlock replied. “I’m on a case.”

 

“Doesn’t matter,” John told him and delivered a cup with a couple of biscuits to the man who was now lounging on the couch with his hands folded on his chest. “Food is important.”

 

“Thinking,” Sherlock said with his eyes closed.

 

John shook his head and then sat down in the chair that he’d found comfortable. He sipped his tea and then picked up the cold case file that he’d been looking through. He occasionally peered at the man that had asked him to become his flatmate.

 

Half an hour later a phone beeped loudly, startling John from the case he’d been reading about. His mind had been far away from his immediate case. “Sorry about that,” he said as he pulled the cell phone out of his pocket. It had been a newer model that he’d been re-gifted with from his sibling. “Ah, prints came back to a woman by name of Jennifer Wilson.”

 

Sherlock’s focus had changed to the device in John’s hand and to the description he’d given Lestrade. ‘ _Serial adulterer,_ ’ he thought. ‘ _She wouldn’t be using her home computer where her husband had access. She’s a traveler too, so everything would have to be done on something personal to her and electronically secure._ ’

 

He looked to the shorter man in the chair and had noticed the man’s frown. “What is it?”

 

“Hm,” John looked up from the text he was reading. “Sorry, I’m going to have to leave. There’s a problem with the lab space at CSU. I have to go sort it out before it comes to blows. I’ll talk to you later.” He received an echoing ‘ _Later_ ’ as he took the cups of tea back to the tray after dumping their contents in the sink. Then he returned it the Mrs. Hudson before taking a taxi to the CSU labs.

 

Sherlock - Holmes - John - Watson

 

“These labs belong to the CSU and they are not to be invaded by any fly-by-night forensic unit that shows up to a crime scene in an unauthorized van,” a pointy face man yelled at Daniella.

 

“Dr. Anderson,” she began, but was interrupted once more by the skinny self-absorbed man.

 

“No,” Anderson said. “You will leave the evidence behind and then leave this building. Do I make myself clear?”

 

“What is going on here,” John hobbled up to them. “Daniella?”

 

“He says that he’s here to take over our work,” she replied with arms crossing her ample chest.

 

“Oh really,” John said. He looked at the man that he’d never met and then asked, “On whose authority?”

 

“Mine,” Anderson replied. “I’m the Junior Deputy Supervisor of this lab.”

 

“Ah,” John noised. “Unfortunately for you, we were called in to especially take care of this crime scene. You’ll have to take it up to your superiors. In the meantime we cannot allow you any access to our evidence.” The other man looked positively livid. “It’s a chain of custody thing, I’m sure you understand.”

 

“You have no right…” Anderson started to protest, but then his expression changed when he noticed the person coming down the corridor.

 

“Anderson you were placed on family leave for the next month,” DI Lestrade said when he showed up, following Emmett in the corridor. “LMFU were called in and you know we cannot change who’s in charge of crime scenes or the evidence once an investigation has begun.”

 

“But this is my case,” Anderson said. “I have a right to see it through.”

 

“Actually,” John said. “We were called in on the first two cases. So if you’re quibbling about whose case it should be, then you really should know that we were the primary investigators. If anyone should be complaining, it should be LMFU when we weren’t called for the last two similar cases.”

 

“Hmph,” Anderson grumped. He crossed his arms, but Lestrade shook his head.

 

“Anderson go home and stay there,” the DI said. “The rest of you return to your duties and bring me any worthwhile results that will solve this thing.” The other man scowled, but he couldn’t deny the fact that he’d been placed on forced leave.

 

John shook his head and then looked to Lestrade and asked, “Why was Sherlock under the impression that Anderson would be at the crime scene when you knew that we’d be there?”

 

Lestrade grinned sheepishly and said, “I had to get one over on him some time.” He shrugged and said, “I’d heard that you’d never met him either so I had to do my part in order for you to pass through the ‘ _Trial by Sherlock._ ’ It’s expected from every CSU and now LMFU to do so.”

 

“Hmph,” John snorted with a half grin. Then he chuckled loudly and said. “Fine I get that. What are your plans now?”

 

“Now we wait for our inquiries into the name Rachel to come back and then go on a drugs bust at Sherlock’s to retrieve the suitcase,” Lestrade said. He registered John’s shocked expression. “You wouldn’t know it to look at the man, but he gets bored easily and has logical justifications in place for his drug use. However I happen know that he’s been clean for quite a while now which is the only reason that we allow his young majesty to help us out on occasion. Well, that and he’s bloody good at too.”

 

“Good to know,” John replied.

 

“You’ll join us then,” Lestrade requested.

 

“On the bust,” John confirmed. “Why not, it’ll be interesting.”

 

“You do know about the suitcase right,” Lestrade needed confirmation.

 

“He showed up with it about half an hour after you’d left,” John replied. “There was nothing of value in it, but he was concerned about the lady’s mobile.” The DI quirked an eyebrow up and the good doctor explained. “It wasn’t in the case or found anywhere around it either when he’d found the suitcase in a skip or so he said.”

 

“I see,” Lestrade frowned and then shook his head as he lost his immediate thought.

 

“I’ll be heading to the lab in order to follow up on what my unit’s gathered for you,” John said. “I’ll see you later then.” He received a nod and then was left in the corridor before he joined the other members of team in order to sort through the evidence they’d collected.

 

Sherlock - Holmes - John - Watson

 

Hours later, John was sitting in the chair that he’d claimed as his own in 221B Baker Street. Sitting in the chair opposite to him was DI Lestrade who’d been there with a few volunteers to search the Consulting Detective’s apartment. They were chatting about John’s potential flatmate when the man in question came running up the stairs winded and nearly out of breath.

 

Watson was surprised by the brightness in the man’s eyes before he saw how quickly they dulled when he took in the number of people rifling through his things. Then there was a blankness that settled over the man’s expression and he knew that the taller man has zoned, probably on the fact that there were too many bodies in his apartment.

 

John stood up, walked over to the man in the fugue state and placed his hand on the man’s face, close to his nose and mouth. “Sherlock,” he said softly. “Pay attention.”

 

Sherlock inhaled deeply and was immediately grounded by the voice, the touch, the scent and barely a taste that had been linked to the scent. He could almost taste the rubber from the non-powdered neoprene gloves that the doctor had worn sometime that day. He took a step back and watched the shorter man return to the chair that he’d obviously claimed.

 

‘ _Without his cane,_ ’ he thought. ‘ _Interesting little fellow, but to be here while they do this?_ ’

 

“What’s all this,” Sherlock asked.

 

“It’s a drugs bust,” Lestrade replied.

 

“Are these human eyes,” Sgt. Donovan asked.

 

“They are,” John replied. “They’re obviously an experiment. I suggest you put them back.”

 

The sergeant looked at them in disgust. “What for?”

 

“He’s right,” Sherlock replied. “Put them back before you ruin the data set that I’m working on.” The woman huffed, but had put them back in the microwave. He turned to the doctor with a raised eyebrow.

 

“I had time to explore the flat before you’d returned,” John sipped his tea calmly. “I had to in order to familiarize myself with the layout.” He grinned cheekily at the taller man and then winked at him when no one else was looking.

 

Sherlock blinked and then huffed. “Why are you really here?”

 

“You can’t keep evidence from us,” Lestrade said. “We knew you found the case.”

 

The tall man looked to the doctor who shook his head. “I didn’t tell him,” John said. “He told me that you had it and I only confirmed it after the fact.”

 

“So you set up this pretend drugs bust to bully me,” Sherlock said in an offended tone.

 

“It stops being pretend if they find anything,” Lestrade said.

 

“I am clean,” Sherlock barked out.

 

“Is your flat,” the DI asked.

 

Sherlock glared at the man. He sniffed the air and noted that every person in his flat was just a mundane or at most a latent or low level Guide like Donavon. There were no other Sentinels in the flat. “What about Rachel? Did you manage to find anything on her?”

 

Lestrade knew what the other man was doing and allowed him to change the subject. He explained that the name belonged to the victim’s unborn daughter.

 

“Why,” Sherlock questioned with a frown. “Why would she write that down, why now?” His mind whorled and turned, but the answer was illusive.

 

“Why would she think of her dead daughter when she was dying,” Donovan stated.

 

“She was dying, why bother with writing down the name of someone that never existed,” Sherlock said.

 

John stood up and said, “Bit not good, Sherlock.”

 

“But think about it,” Sherlock said. “She could have written anything in those moments, the name has value other than something sentimental.”

 

“True,” John replied with a nod. “She was trying hard to write the full name down. It has a purpose.”

 

“Your phone,” Sherlock said with his hand out. John handed him his phone without question. He watched the taller man fiddle with it and then examine it quickly. “The phone,” he gasped and handed off the one in his hands in order to log into his laptop.

 

John looked at the phone that had been placed in his hand and then it dawned on him too. It was like he felt the excitement radiating from Sherlock. The others in the room had been dismissed by the DI. They’d known the score when they came on this ‘ _drugs bust_ ’. Well most of them did.

 

“Sherlock,” John had a questioning tone. “What is the value of Rachel?”

 

Sherlock looked back the DI and his potentially new flatmate. “How do you live with your funny and slow little brains,” he observed. “Rachel does refer to her daughter, but it’s also altogether something else.” He paused and then continued. “She had a string of lovers. She managed to keep her personal life and everything else organized, so she needed a top-of-the-line phone. It needed to be a smartphone, but also something that could be traced if ever she lost it.”

 

“GPS,” John gasped out. “You’re tracing it now.”

 

Sherlock stood up and observed that the doctor took his place to monitor the laptop’s screen. “Of course I am,” he said. “There had to be a reason that the killer kept the phone. He didn’t know that he had it on her or that she’d planted on him. I texted the phone with an address and thought that I could chase him down, but it was a bust.”

 

“The phone is moving,” John replied. He read the location and frowned. “Sherlock…”

 

“What is it,” Sherlock said.

 

“The phone is here,” John looked at him with a quizzical look. “It’s at 221 Baker Street.”

 

“That’s not possible,” Sherlock replied. “I’d have heard it ringing when I called it.” Just then Mrs. Hudson showed up talking about a taxi that Sherlock was supposed to have ordered. The tall man whorled around and then noticed the shadow of a cab driver that had pocketed a very distinctive phone. His though coalesced and suddenly he understood the signals that his mind had already absorbed.

 

“I’m going out,” Sherlock said as he grabbed his coat. “Need air,” he left the two men there, staring at his wake.

 

John was suspicious and so he sat called up the GPS coordinates again. While the system booted up he looked to the DI and asked, “Why do you think he left?”

 

“I dunno,” Lestrade said. “I don’t know how that man’s mind works.”

 

“Surely you know something,” John prodded.

 

“I’ve known him for over…,” Lestrade said in an almost surprised tone. “…five years and no I don’t.” He looked at John and said, “He’s a great man and someday, I’m hoping that he’ll become a good one. See you around Dr. Watson.”

 

“Lestrade,” John said. He watched the man leave, nudging his remaining officers away from the home of Sherlock Holmes. The laptop beeped, John looked at it and then cursed. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and speed dialed a number. He didn’t wait for someone to respond, he only said, “Sig Sauer.”

 

Sherlock - Holmes - John - Watson

 

**TBC...**


	5. Chapter 5

**CH 5**

 

Sherlock - Holmes - John - Watson

 

Emmett showed up at John’s location outside of 221B Baker Street, “Where to boss?”

 

“I’ll guide you, but we must hurry before that lanky idiot does something rash,” John replied. He had his phone out and was tracing the GPS coordinates to the pink lady’s phone.

 

“Right ho,” Emmett said. He’d driven a black unmarked company car when he picked up his team leader, one they all affectionately called Boss. He drove with all appropriate caution so that they couldn’t be caught for speeding violations. But he also knew the streets really well and was able to take several shortcuts to get to a matching location of the cab that Sherlock had taken.

 

“Slow down here,” John said. He looked up when the phone he was tracking was in a static position. “There’s the cab, pull up to that second building.” He opened up a secret cubby that had been built into the glove box of the car. He took out a Sig Sauer handgun that had been similar to his military issue one which he’d left secured at his dinky bed sit for now. He loaded this one and checked the chamber before he tucked it into the back of his pants.

 

“Get the mobile unit in charge of the poison cases together and set it up to travel a couple of blocks away from this area, out of site mind you,” John said getting out of the vehicle. “Wait for the call.” He shut the door as he said, “I have to do something first, I’ll join you in a bit.”

 

Emmett just grinned as he watched his team leader running towards one of the buildings and his grin widened when he noticed the glint of the medical cane that had been left behind in the vehicle beside him. He quickly texted his wife to prepare her for pickup along with the other two members of their LMFU team and then drove the unmarked car to one LMFU’s vehicle storage sites. He had his team pick him up in their logoed van where they waited for a call that required their forensic team to investigate the closing of the case of the mysterious London poisonings.

 

Meanwhile, John ran into one of two nearly identical buildings. He ran through the corridors only to realize that he was in the wrong building. ‘ _Damn it,_ ’ he thought as he followed the torch light in the opposite building. ‘ _He’d better not be doing something stupid…of course he’d go with the killer to find out how the killings worked._ ’

 

John watched in horror as the man that had wanted him for a flatmate lift a small pill up to his mouth. His empathic abilities honed in on the fact that the long-legged pillock was doing everything out of curiosity, his mental nature hummed with the need to know…nearly everything at whatever the cost. As a Doctor well-versed in scientific curiosity himself, he wasn’t about to let such a brilliant mind do something stupid like eat a pill of absolutely questionable substance.

 

“You idiot,” he breathed out and then in an authoritative, modulated Guide voice said. “My Dear Sentinel, you had better drop that pill before I put a bullet through your hand.”

 

Sherlock had been shocked to hear that voice ordering him to drop the pill. His inner Sentinel obeyed immediately and his fingers had opened releasing the poison. He even moved slightly out of the way. He heard the click of a firearm hammer cocking back, followed by the loudest cracking sound as well as the shattering tinkle of glass before the killer in front of him dropped to the ground bleeding from a fatal wound to his left shoulder just barely above his heart.

 

The Consulting Detective frowned back at the window behind him, but then quickly turned to confront the taxi driver that had brought him here. He then leaned over the man seeking the name of his fan while his unknown saviour rushed out of the other building and into a parked van nearby.

 

John quickly hid the weapon away in a specialized cubby where the firearm would be thoroughly cleaned of his prints and of the gunshot residue (GSR). He cleaned his hands and changed his shirt in order to be ready. He looked to his trusted team and said, “We need to be riding around, not parked. I need a nearly empty phone too.”

 

Jett handed one to him. “It’s got a few minutes left on it,” he said. “We can top it up or cancel it.”

 

“This one will have to be cancelled,” John said. “Pull over for a minute I need to make a call.” He called New Scotland Yard and spoke with a hacking, phlegmy voice saying that he heard shots being fired at Roland Kerr College. He made himself sound loud and belligerent, but he got the point across that some cars were needed to investigate the disturbance.

 

“All right boss,” Emmett asked as he took the depleted phone. He recorded the serial number and bagged it. They were prepared to send it to disposal along with John’s GSR wipes and one of his numerous oatmeal knitted jumpers.

 

“All right,” John replied.

 

Danielle was looking at John with a raised eyebrow and pointedly asked, “Well?”

 

John grinned and said, “I’m thinking of flat-sharing. It’s quite the nice location as long as the idiot doesn’t kill himself stupidly.”

 

The other two members snorted and then one of them took the call for their primary LMFU team to go to the crime scene and clean it up. It seemed that the infamous Sherlock Holmes had done it again. He’d solved the mysterious crime of the serial poisonings.

 

Sherlock - Holmes - John - Watson

 

Sherlock had been sitting in the back of the medical van with a stupid bright orange shock blanket over his shoulders complaining about it to the Detective Inspector in front of him.   “Why do they keep putting this one me?”

 

“It’s for shock,” Lestrade replied with a cheeky grin.

 

“But I’m not in shock,” Sherlock complained. “So did you find the shooter?”

 

“Nope,” Lestrade replied. “Left the building without a trace…” He looked at the quirked up eyebrow, sighed and said, “All right let’s have it.”

 

Sherlock began rattling off things like someone being acclimated to a hostile environment, working well under pressure, having to be a crack-shot and had to stop when he noticed that his interrogator was chuckling. The Consulting Detective huffed, crossed his arms and demanded, “What?”

 

“You just described nearly every member of the LMFU team here,” Lestrade chuckled. “So which one of them did it and can you prove it?” He noticed the gleam in the consultant’s eye. “Or the better question is do you want to?” Still chuckling he said, “I want you to come in and give your statement tomorrow after one, understood?”

 

“Yes, yes of course,” Sherlock replied before flinging the loud orange blanket off of his shoulders. He did a small push off jump from the ambulances tail gate before he walked over to watch how the LMFU gathered evidence. He privately admitted to himself, that they were doing a far more competent job than any of the CSU yarders that he’s had to put up with. He needed to speak to one them in particular.

 

“Dr. Watson,” he called out. “A word…”

 

“Mr. Holmes,” John replied with nod and moving away from his coworkers.

 

“Sherlock, please,” the tall man asked. “Your team was called in awfully quick.”

 

“We were ready to roll at a moment’s notice,” John replied with a nod. “Lucky too to catch this one,” he grinned at the face that Sherlock was making at the moment. “The city does require some kind of closure for these cases. Has someone processed you yet? I understand you were at the scene.”

 

Sherlock paused and said, “No I was not processed,” even if he had already been processed by another of John’s compatriots. He wanted the Doctor to do it again as it was an excuse to be in the man’s presence and avoid the presence of his overbearing brother which he’d just caught sight of. ‘ _Damnable man, showing up when he’s not needed that officious prat._ ’

 

“Very well then, sit here while I collect samples,” John replied.

 

“You’ve washed the GSR from your hands presumably,” Sherlock stated very quietly so as not to allow any of the copper Sentinels to hear him. “I’m pleased to see you without your cane. Something good must have happened this evening that you’ve managed to get rid of that ridiculous thing.”

 

John looked up, startled and then he chuckled, “Actually yes. I’m seriously thinking of flat-sharing. I heard that there are a few nice places in Central London. Know of anyone seeking a flatmate?”

 

Sherlock giggled and said, “Just bring over your things tomorrow. I can’t imagine you have too many belongings considering your invalided status and the allocated bed-sit for transitioning soldiers.”

 

“True enough,” John replied as he bagged and tagged a few things from Sherlock’s body. He knelt down and scraped a bit of blood off of the bottom of the man’s shoe. “Get anything interesting from the Cabbie then?”

 

“What,” the tall man cocked his head with an expression of surprise.

 

John held up the container with the blood sample with a few microfibers that obviously belonged to the deceased man’s shirt. “Stepped on him is my guess. He must have said something to irk you or there’s something else going on, so what is it?”

 

“Not here,” Sherlock said as he grabbed the container and put it in the pocket of his coat. “I’ll see you at home later. Call ahead so that Mrs. Hudson can let you in and we can hammer out the particulars.” He stood up and walked away before his brother could bother to make any kind of remark or even see that his little brother was no longer at the crime scene.

 

Dr. Watson shook his head and thought, ‘ _That one’s going to be a handful._ ’ He paused and then continued, ‘ _I can’t wait._ ’

 

Sherlock - Holmes - John - Watson

 

**END**


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